


ah yeah

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, Pegging, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn and always-a-cisgirl-harry fuck around</p>
            </blockquote>





	ah yeah

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr, sept. 2014 
> 
> come say hello [here](http://www.ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com) !

It all starts because Harry has a great arse. It’s round and soft and fills out a pair of skinny jeans in the best bloody way, and she takes good care of it - always getting papped walking out of SoulCycle in her sports bra and leggings and a sweaty see-through white vest, her dark tattoos showing through the shirt and her hair pulled back in a ponytail with wild sweat-damp curls escaping in a halo around her head. 

Not that Zayn ever looks at pap pics of Harry. That would be weird, considering she’s his bandmate, and he gets to see her all the time. 

It’s just that sometimes their tour breaks get really long and Harry doesn’t text back that often, so Zayn gets to Googling, and. Well. 

They’re not on break now, though. No. They’re very much on tour, busing through the southern United States. Zayn thinks they’re in Dallas, still. Maybe Houston. He doesn’t much care where they are, because they’re in a hotel, and Harry’s in Zayn’s room, currently sat on the sofa drinking a beer and wearing only an over-sized Dr. Dre t-shirt and these tiny pink panties that Zayn hasn’t looked at too closely for fear of being called a pervert. 

He is. He totally is. But he’s  _trying not to be_. It’s the thought that counts, right?  

Harry’s watching American football - she’s a Packers fan, which means approximately nothing to Zayn but he’ll indulge her anyway - and her legs are up on Zayn’s lap and Zayn’s touching her ankle. It’s soft and smooth and tan, but there are little tiny hairs that Harry must’ve missed shaving, right below her ankle bone. Zayn strokes them with his thumb, gently.  

“Fuck yes, Rodgers!” Harry yells, pounding a fist on her bare thigh and nearly spilling her beer. “Get in!" 

Zayn looks up from the bowl he’s considering packing. He likes to smoke and Harry likes to drink, but they make it work. The best nights are when they share - do shots and shotguns together and both end up crossfaded and horny and - well. Zayn loosens his hand from where it’s tightened around Harry’s ankle, and takes a deep breath. 

_She’s your bandmate_ , he reminds himself.  _Coworker. Colleague. And a fucking heartbreaker to boot, so calm down, Malik_. 

"Zaynie,” Harry says in her raspy low voice, without taking her eyes off the screen. “D'you mind fetching my phone?" 

"Where is it?”  

Harry sips her beer, mutters something at the telly, focused on the game. “Er. Nightstand. I think. Or my bag? Oh, wait, shit, no, I left it in the toilet after I took a shower. Thanks, babe." 

Zayn lifts her feet up and staggers up and into the toilet. Harry’s phone - with its bright yellow Marc Jacobs case and slightly-cracked screen - is sitting on a heap of sweaty gym clothes. Zayn wrinkles his nose and picks it up. 

"You’re a fucking slob, Haz,” he calls, and Harry just yells back, “Pot fucking kettle, Zayn- oh,  _come on_ , don’t let him fucking run with it- damnit!" 

Zayn wanders back out into the hotel room, where apparently something very intense is happening in the football game. Harry’s sitting up now, hands on her knees, staring at the screen and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. 

"Thanks,” she says absently, when Zayn puts the phone next to her. “Oh -  _god,_ come on, come on, come- ten - ten seconds, come on- oh  _shit_. Well, good bloody job.”  

She growls, annoyed, and flicks off the television, tosses the remote onto the ground and sits back, taking a sulky sip of her beer. 

“Did they not, uh- did they lose?” Zayn asks, fumbling for his lighter in his jeans pocket with one hand, pipe perched precariously in the other. 

Harry sighs, and takes the pipe out of his hand. Zayn makes a face but lets her. 

“Basically,” she says, taking a hit, and then exhaling slowly. She hands the pipe back to Zayn and takes another deep breath, eyes closing. Harry’s gotten into yoga lately, started taking classes in LA with some actresses Zayn always forgets the name of off some show about ghosts. Or something. He’s not sure. Harry made him watch the show once, to be supportive, but Zayn fell asleep halfway through with his head in Harry’s lap, her fingernails scritching softly against his scalp. 

“Hey, Zayn?” Harry says, as Zayn lights up. She looks at him, dimples popping out as she grins. “You, uh. You wanna have a shag?" 

Zayn chokes on a mouthful of smoke. 

Harry’s eyes go wide and round and she crawls closer to him on the sofa, rubs his back and takes the pipe out of his hand, setting it on the coffee table. "You alright, babe?" 

Zayn just coughs, until he clears his throat, and then he coughs a couple more times to buy some time. 

"Fine,” he says finally, hoarsely, and Harry hands him her beer. “I - uh." 

"Should I take that as a no?” Harry says, and then - before Zayn realizes- her hand is on his thigh. Harry has big hands for a girl - calloused from the guitar lessons she’s been taking with Niall, short carefully-trimmed nails painted pale pink. Long fingers. Zayn loves her hands. God, he really does want to have sex with her.

It’s just that he’s been trying not to, because it usually ends in him watching Harry pull some other bloke at a bar or after a show, her dimples out in full-force as she charms someone into bed. It usually ends in Zayn getting that gut-punch feeling of  _oh, right. She’s not mine._

Harry’s a bit like a bird, or a stallion, or, like. A gazelle. Some kind of animal that can’t be caged. 

She must run free towards other people’s dicks. Zayn has long accepted that. 

But at the same time - it’s hard to say no when she runs toward  _his_  dick. 

“Harry,” he says, weakly, and his acquiescence must show in his voice because Harry climbs onto his lap, straddling his thighs. 

“Hey,” she says, cupping his face. “S'alright. Is it alright?" 

Zayn swallows thickly. "Yeah, Haz, it’s alright." 

She grins, and leans down into another kiss. 

–

They end up sprawled naked across the hotel bed, Harry with a firm thigh between Zayn’s legs, grinding it against his cock, practiced and slow as they kiss. Zayn’s already hard, already gasping. He’s massively easy for Harry, has been since they were kids and he had a guilty wank everytime he saw Harry sprinting naked around the X Factor house.  

He cups Harry’s arse in one hand, and Harry says, offhand, "You know. We could try that if you like, sometime." 

"What?” Zayn says, distracted by the sweet smell of her neck and the warm give of her flesh under his hand. 

“Fucking me in the arse,” Harry says into Zayn’s ear. Then she giggles. 

“Are you, uh,” Zayn says, pulling back, huffing out a sharp breath. “Are you fucking with me?" 

Harry shrugs, shakes her head. "Done it before." 

"You - wait, honestly?" 

Harry tilts her head, then reaches forward and tweaks Zayn’s nose. "Yeah,” she says. “Are you surprised? You’re the one who’s always calling me a slag." 

"I didn’t - first of all, that’s not me that’s  _Louis_ , and second of all, I - what? Is it - I mean. Is that, uh, does it even feel good for you?" 

Harry smiles again. She has freckles on the bridge of her nose. "You’d have to find out, wouldn’t you?" 

Zayn’s hand has gone slack on her arse. "I - would you honestly be-" 

"Not tonight,” Harry says, softly. “But yeah, Zayn. Sometime. If you want." 

"Course I bloody  _want_ ,” Zayn chokes out, and then flushes. “I mean." 

Harry’s still smiling, soft and knowing. "Yeah, alright,” she says, and then her hand slides over the curve of Zayn’s hip until she’s flattening it against his arse. 

Zayn tenses. “Haz-" 

"What?” Harry says, perfectly innocent. “Turnabout’s fair play. God, you’ve really got no bum." 

She snorts, strokes her fingers down one arse cheek, dragging on the bare skin. Zayn shivers. He’s sensitive right there, is all. Anyone would be. 

"Hey, Zayn?” she says, conversationally. “What if we, uh, did you first?" 

She’s murmuring against the side of his cheek, and one of Zayn’s hands is playing with her tit now, rolling her nipple under his thumb, so it takes him a second to register what he’s said. 

"Mm?” he says, breathing hard out through his nose. “What?" 

"You,” Harry breathes, hand rubbing his arse. “Me fucking you. Like. Tonight." 

She gives a long shudder down her spine, then lets out a shaky kind of laugh. "God, that just, uh. That’s really fucking hot." 

Zayn’s still trying to work through the first bit. "You - me? How?" 

Harry kisses him and doesn’t laugh at him. "Strap-on,” she says, stroking Zayn’s arse slowly. “You’ve quite fancied it when we’ve done fingers, haven’t you?" 

Well. Zayn goes hot. Maybe he does like a finger or three up his arse while he’s getting sucked off. Doesn’t mean he wants a bloody piece of plastic up there. 

Harry rolls him over onto his back, suddenly, straddling his hips. Her hair hangs in her face. It’s getting long again, past her shoulders, and her tits bounce a bit when she moves, round and creamy-pale and full. Zayn stares, and then drags his gaze up to her face with difficulty. 

She’s not smiling teasingly at him the way she usually is when he gets distracted by her distracting body. No. She’s looking at him very seriously, green eyes wide.

"We don’t have to,” she says, low. “But if you- I mean. I could make it really good for you. You’d like it." 

Zayn huffs out a breath. His stomach is suddenly shaky with nerves. "What makes you so sure?" 

"Bit of an old hand at it,” Harry says, shrugging, her eyes sparkling just a bit. “Not to brag, or anything-" 

"You live to brag,” Zayn says, tickling the dark laurel tattoos on her hips with his thumbs, feeling a little more steady when she collapses into giggles, wriggling on top of him. 

“I- stop it!” she gasps, snorting, yanking at his hands. “Zayn, stop. Swear to Christ I’ll wee all over you." 

"Ooh, kinky,” Zayn says, in his  _vas-happenin_  voice that always makes Harry laugh, four years on. 

Harry snorts, runs a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. Her cheeks are flushed. “So, you up for it?" 

"You’re an old hand?” Zayn says, instead of answering. He’s still trying to work out if he’s up for it or not. He really couldn’t say, at the moment. “With who?" 

Harry sighs, shoving her hair back again.

"You’re in good hands,” she says. “I learned everything I need to know about strap-ons from Cazza." 

Zayn gulps. Harry barely talks about that anymore, her thing with Caroline. Back when she was seventeen and fiery and never fucking stopped flirting. Everyone thought it was a joke until the morning Harry got papped stumbling out of Caroline’s flat in her dress from the night before, her hair a tangled mess and her mouth swollen. 

"Yeah?” he says, and it sounds breathless. 

“Yeah,” Harry says back, playful. “She taught me well." 

"But, uh, with - with blokes, too?” Zayn asks. 

“Yeah, with blokes too, love,” she says, running her fingers along the wings on his chest. “David, and Jeff, and Nick-" 

"Nick?  _Grimshaw_?" 

Harry tilts her head. Grins a little. 

Zayn stares up at her, aware that he probably looks like a fish with his mouth wide open. "But he’s, er, gay. Isn’t he?" 

Harry nods, slowly, tracing the sparse chest hair above his nipples. "He is, yeah." 

"You - so how did you-" 

Harry shrugs, a smile lurking at the corner of her mouth. "Grim’s open-minded, int he. And drunk. We were also very drunk. God, it wasn’t like I made him eat me out or summat. I just fucked him, and got myself off after. And we snogged a bit, but we do that all the time. S'just for fun.”  

“Wow,” Zayn breathes, shaking his head. He’s suddenly rethinking all the nights Harry spends in Nick’s bed when she’s in London. He was picturing face masques and GBBO and platonic cuddles, not bloody _arse-fucking_. 

Harry shrugs again. “Wasn’t a big deal. I told him I wanted to try it out on someone who liked having something, you know. In there. We made a pact." 

"A pact for- for that." 

"And for us getting married if we’re both single when I turn thirty-five,” Harry says. “But that was definitely booze-induced. He does very much fancy blokes, and I fancy people who like eating pussy, so.”

She sighs dramatically. “It’ll never work out." 

"I fancy eating pussy,” Zayn says hopefully, and Harry grins at him, pleased. 

“You certainly do.”  

She leans down for a kiss, her tits pressing against his chest. 

“So,” she says, soft but relentless. “You fancy trying it out?" 

"Eating pussy?” Zayn says, sort-of joking, and Harry just watches him, stroking his cheek. 

“We don’t have to." 

"You’d like it, wouldn’t you?” Zayn asks, throwing his head back against the pillow, letting out a sigh.

Harry nods, slowly. “Think you would too. But you don’t-" 

"I - yeah, okay,” Zayn says. “Alright." 

"It’ll be good,” Harry says, chewing her bottom lip, watching him thoughtfully. “I - I just. I just want to try some stuff out with you.”

Zayn thumbs over her pouty bottom lip. “Yeah, Haz, I said alright." 

He’s prepared to have to convince Harry he’s actually into it, but Harry just smiles, softly, and then rolls off him, stands up and starts rummaging in her suitcase. 

Zayn takes a couple deep breaths, staring up at the ceiling. A slow curl of excitement is starting to unfurl in his stomach. Truth be told, he’s really bloody liked it when Harry puts her fingers inside him, loved that warm full feeling and the sharp pleasure of Harry fingering his prostate. It’s not - he can get by without it, he can get  _off_  without it, but it’s something he thinks about when he wanks. 

Harry’s hands are so nice. Zayn runs his hand down his stomach, grips his dick, and Harry says, turning her head to watch him, "Babe, careful, don’t get yourself off." 

"M'not gonna-” Zayn starts, scornfully, but the way she arches an eyebrow does make his cock throb in his palm. 

“Hands off,” Harry says sternly, laughing. 

Zayn takes his hands off, watches as Harry twists back around, winding black straps around her waist. It makes her arse look pretty incredible, and Zayn stares happily until Harry turns around and - oh. God. That’s a dick.

Harry strikes a pose, bicep out, lunging forward and grinning like an idiot. The dildo bounces in the harness. 

“What do you think?" 

"I - uh. It’s big,” Zayn tries, sitting up. “Are you sure that’s not, like. For. Girls only?" 

Harry runs her palm down the cock. "Pretty sure." 

"Because, like - I don’t - I mean. It’s big." 

"Jeff takes it fine, and he’s tighter than you,” Harry says worriedly, still idly stroking the cock. “I mean, I - I know it looks big, but it doesn’t feel that-”

“Tighter than me?” Zayn asks, wrinkling his nose. He’s not sure if he’s insulted or flattered. “How do you measure that?" 

"Mm, well,” Harry says, crawling into bed on her knees, the cock bouncing with each step. “I’ve put four fingers inside you, and Jeff really only fancies three." 

"You’ve put - four?” Zayn asks, dubiously, eyeing the dildo. “Honestly?”

“You never notice coz you’re so far gone,” Harry says, softly. “It gets you off so hard. That’s why I - I thought you’d fancy this." 

Zayn’s gone red, but his dick is hard at Harry’s words, starting to leak a bit. 

Harry notices, carefully swipes her thumb over the head, brings it to her mouth. 

"You’ll like it,” she promises, around her thumb, mouth wet. She slips her hand down again, gives him a tug, puts her fingers in his slick again, brushing them against the slit of his dick right where it leaks. Zayn shudders, belly going liquid hot, tries not to thrust up against her hand.

“Haz,” he breathes. 

“It’ll - it might take a little bit, but you’re going to really like it,” Harry murmurs, jerking him off, achingly slow. 

“Yeah,” Zayn gasps, gripping the sheets with one hand. “Yeah, alright, c'mon. I’ll do it, let’s - let’s do it." 

Harry nods, face splitting in a brief dimply grin, and then falling back into business mode, warm-eyed and focused. 

"Turn over for me?” she says. “Lay on your front." 

Zayn cups his own cock as he turns, feeling it heavy and hard against his stomach as he lies down. 

He shivers at the first touch of Harry’s warm hand on his arse, cupping it. 

"Spread your legs a little, love,” Harry murmurs, nudging Zayn’s knees apart, and Zayn’s cheeks start to flush as he does it, knees slipping on the sheets. 

Christ. It’s different like this - Harry behind him, watching his arse, instead of just fumbling to slip fingers inside him while she bobs on his dick. 

“Alright?” Harry asks, and Zayn nods, throat tight, lets out a choked breath when Harry’s soft, deliberate strokes over his arsecheek start to move inward. 

“S'alright,” Harry breathes, trailing her fingers down his crack. “I’ll go slow, Zaynie." 

Zayn nods again. He’s not sure what he’d say if he tried to speak right now. God, Harry’s nowhere near inside him and he already feels like he’s clutching the pillow in front of him for dear life. 

He feels something slippery and cold against his arse, and - this isn’t new. Harry’s used lube on him before, a couple times. In Australia, last year, she jerked him off with slick and then reached her fingers back, rubbed his perineum and his rim and then, shallowly, inside his arse. 

He’d come so hard some of it hit his neck. It was actually a bit embarrassing, until Harry gamely licked it off. 

"Shit,” Zayn gasps out, when he feels the first press of Harry’s fingertip against his hole. He clenches down on nothing, squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Breathe,” Harry mumbles, her voice low and thick like it gets when she’s turned on. She’s probably wet, behind that harness - dripping and slick. Because of Zayn’s arse. 

Zayn exhales hard. It helps, to focus on that. 

“Good,” Harry says, finger wriggling against him, and then with a soft wet sound, it’s inside him. Zayn breathes out into that familiar, strange feeling, tries to adjust.

“Good lad,” Harry breathes, pleased, patting his arse with her other hand, and then she hits a bit harder, a soft smack that makes Zayn twitch - quickly pulls her finger out and replaces it with two, just like that. 

It hurts, for a moment, and Zayn pushes back against it, gritting his teeth. 

“Breathe,” Harry reminds him. 

“Yeah,” Zayn chokes out, gulping in air. “I know." 

Harry pulls him open with her free hand, curls her two fingers, and finally, finally, Zayn starts to feel that flare of heat that makes this worthwhile. 

He lets out a sound, strangled and pleased, and Harry sounds like she’s grinning when she says, "That it, love?" 

Zayn nods, digging his face into the pillow, and Harry’s so good to him, so sweet, because she starts to fuck him just like that, rubbing her fingers against that spot inside him and stroking his lower back with her other hand. 

It feels so warm and dizzy and good Zayn almost whimpers when Harry’s fingers slip out of him. 

He must make some sort of unhappy sound, because Harry leans down, curls tickling against Zayn’s shoulderblades, and kisses the back of his neck, then behind his ear. 

"It’s alright, love,” she says. “Can you get up on your hands and knees for me?" 

Zayn’s not entirely sure if he can, but he tries, his legs slipping and his thighs trembling. 

"That’s good,” Harry says, sounding hungry now. “God, Zayn, if you had any idea how you look, like that." 

"Shut up,” Zayn mutters embarrassedly, dropping his head, feeling a flush spread down his back. 

“So fucking pretty,” Harry whispers. “Fuck, wish I had a real dick so I could feel how tight you are inside." 

"Haz,” Zayn gasps out, skin burning. “God." 

"This’ll have to do,” Harry says, slowly, ruefully, and then she nudges at Zayn’s rim with two fingers, holds him open. That’s - not fingers, what comes next. That’s bigger, and it hurts like hell at first, body resisting, until the head slips in and the rest follows and Zayn just  _opens_. 

It’s scary, sort of, feeling himself split like that. But Harry’s right behind him, rubbing his back and saying something in her sweet low voice about how good he looks, and Zayn exhales shakily, lets it happen. 

At first it’s not that good, and then Harry starts to fuck him with intent, rolling her hips and searching for the sweet spot. She’s nearly there, Zayn can  _feel_ it- itching at the edge of his vision - and he pushes back onto the toy, groans when that does the trick on her next thrust in. Christ, that’s good.

“Yeah?” Harry gasps from behind him, breathless. Zayn can’t turn to see her, but he imagines she’s working hard, sweat glistening between her tits, lip bitten red in concentration as she fucks him with short snaps of her hips. 

Zayn just mutters something into his folded hands, clenching his hands into the sheets as she starts to go faster. Every thrust chokes a little noise out of him, now, and his head is thick and stupid with it, his whole body feeling massively oversensitive. Harry reaches forward, drags her hand around his hip to cup his hard cock, and Zayn swears to God he can feel sparks. 

“Fuck, Harry,” he grits out, when she times her strokes up and down his dick with her thrusts, and everything is narrowing, his vision starting to blur. “Fuck, fucking-  _fuck_ -" 

"Yeah, love,” Harry breathes out, sounding so fascinated. “Fuckin’ hell, Zayn, you look so good taking me like this, you have no idea-" 

Her hand twists against his prick as she speaks, and he can’t - he can’t  _help it_ , he comes, sobbing out a groan, his ears buzzing with white noise. His hips jerk forward into her hand, the length of her cock still filling him up, a grounding, steadying weight as the rest of him comes undone. 

When he comes to himself, Harry’s not inside him anymore, and Zayn feels hollow. He’s flat on his belly, arms still trembling, and Harry’s petting his sides from behind, his arse, the backs of his thighs, soothing. 

"You alive?” she asks, and Zayn huffs a laugh, rolls his head to the side and peers up at her. 

“I think so." 

Harry flops down onto her stomach to lie next to him, and then yelps, scrambles upright. 

"The bloody thing just stabbed me in the stomach,” she says, unhooking the clasps and then tossing the whole contraption to the side. Zayn vows to make sure it’s washed before it goes inside him again. 

“Try having a real prick, Hazza." 

"I wish I could,” Harry says, cuddling against his side, and then she reaches down between her legs. 

“Tell me how you liked it,” she says. Zayn can hear the slick wet sound of her fingers, playing with herself. His skin prickles all over with leftover arousal, and he pushes himself up onto his side, beckons her closer, laughs when she slings a leg up over his hip eagerly. 

“Felt good,” he says, knocking her hand out of the way, cupping his palm over the heat of her cunt and grinning when her mouth goes tight with want and she pushes closer to him, grinds against his hand. “Felt - really good, babe." 

"Yeah?” she gasps, as he spreads her apart with his fingers. Fuck, she’s slick. 

“Did it turn you on?” Zayn says, leaning forward to kiss her slack bottom lip, her soft cheek, dragging his fingers through the wet heat between her legs. “Seein’ me with something up my arse?" 

"Fuck,” Harry moans. “Yeah." 

She tilts her face down so they’re kissing properly, her mouth all soft and open, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths. She won’t stop moaning against his open mouth, her hips hitching up against his hand. 

Zayn slips two fingers carefully onto the bud of her clit, and she repays the favor by biting his tongue. 

"Fuck!” he gasps, yanking his face away, sticking his tongue out, and Harry just groans at him impatiently, grabs his wrist to make him do it again, looking unapologetic. 

“You fucking vampire,” Zayn mutters, stroking her clit with his thumb, fumbling his other fingers down inside her, each tiny movement making her gasp and shudder. “You’re fuckin - shameless, aren’t you?" 

"Ye-ahh,” she gasps out, her voice going high in her throat as she works against his fingers, and she sounds so desperate Zayn’s own cock is starting to throb in sympathy. 

“C'mon, babes,” he says, cooing at her, kissing her mouth, her jaw. “C'mon, let it go-" 

He’s barely finished saying the words when she shudders violently and clenches around his fingers, makes a sound like a laugh. She always sounds like that when she comes - gaspy and breathless and giggly. It’s strange and sweet, like finding something nice inside a chocolate when you thought it’d just be plain. 

No other girls Zayn’s slept with do that, laugh as they come. 

Harry’s blinking at him with her mouth open, her cheeks pink, looking bright-eyed and happy. 

"Heyyy,” she says, reaching a hand up to push her hair out of her face. “I’m not shameless." 

"You fuckin’ are, though, you bloody admitted it,” Zayn laughs, pulling her in by the hips to kiss, and they snog for a bit just like that, both of them post-orgasm sleepy and liking the languid feel of it. 

Finally Harry pulls back, rolls onto her back, and Zayn pillows his head on his hand to watch her. 

“Alright?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, tucking an arm behind her head. “Just. That was really good. What’s it like to have a dick?" 

"You’ve asked me this like a thousand times,” Zayn says, because she has, back in X Factor days. At her stepdad’s bungalow, when they all got drunk round the fire, and Harry started interrogating them on the ins and outs of their genitalia. 

Harry just hums thoughtfully. “And you’ve never told me." 

"We’ve tried!" 

Harry looks over at him. 

"You’ve got a dick, now, anyway, haven’t you?” Zayn says, snorting a laugh. “It’s just detachable." 

Harry smiles at him slow, eyes going soft and fond. 

"Glad we did that,” she says, taking his hand. They’re both sprawled across the wet spot and’ll have to move in a minute, but Zayn doesn’t say anything. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, not even flushing too much. “Me too." 

Harry guides Zayn’s hand over the curve of her hip until he’s cupping her arse. 

"Next time, like this,” she says, eyes dark and serious. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, throat dry, and she puts her face into his chest. It’s unexpectedly tender. Zayn lifts his hand from her arse to stroke her hair. 

“Thanks,” he says. “For, you know." 

"Fucking you in the arse,” Harry mumbles, huffing a laugh against Zayn’s skin. 

“That,” Zayn says, scritching his nails over her scalp, feeling the way she goes pliant against him, breath slowing. “That, and you know. Just thanks." 

He’s scared she’ll wheedle it out of him, the stupid way he feels about this, about her, but instead she mumbles  _g'night_  and then lets out a soft snore. 

Zayn laughs, helplessly, and doesn’t take his hand out of her hair for a long while.


End file.
